


Probably

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, There's swearing, possibly vaguely unrealistic depiction of alcoholism, tasty tasty angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t question the appearance of a hipflask inside Grantaire’s coat pocket, or the smell of whiskey and coffee when Enjolras went to kiss him goodbye on the rare mornings they had together. He was busy. He didn’t have time to chase after Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probably

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic for the Les Mis fandom! Huge fan of the musical and movie (never read the brick whoopsie).
> 
> I basically wrote this as an exercise to get me back into fic writing. I'm without a beta, but I've proof read it at least three times, so I apologise for any glaring mistakes left over. 
> 
> Feedback would be most appreciated - I am always looking to improve :)
> 
> Enjoy!

In finals week, Enjolras nested.

It’s something Grantaire never really understood, but he didn’t question it either. He would watch Enjolras’s preparations like most people watch nature documentaries.

“What’s he doing?” Eponine asked, peering over Grantaire’s shoulder and out the window.

“Exam prep.” Grantaire muttered, watching Enjolras haul two huge canvas bags out of the back of his car.

“Does he have books in there?”

“Nope, food.”

“I thought you guys went grocery shopping the other day?”

“We did.” Grantaire turned away from the window after watching Enjolras go inside the building. “But this is different. This is his ‘nesting food’.”

“Do I even want to know?” Eponine asked.

“Probably not.”

Enjolras’s finals routine essentially involved him locking himself in the box room for a fortnight, and consuming his weight in green tea, jam and Graham Crackers. As exams drew closer, jar after jar of jam would find itself nestled between the ever-present cases of beer in the fridge, and cracker boxes would be shoved precariously into the cupboards. Enjolras would emerge only for bathroom breaks and the occasional shower, the latter usually at Grantaire’s insistence.

“I’m not going to attempt to understand your study habits, because God knows that’s a job reserved for anthropologists who will find you buried under text books and cracker boxes in the distant future.” Grantaire had said, prising a textbook out of his boyfriend’s shaking hands. “But I’m staging a mini intervention for tonight. Get in the shower, and when you come out there will be a hearty, vitamin-packed meal waiting for you.”

“I understand your concern,” Enjolras babbled, voice hoarse, “But I haven’t fully mapped out the financial structure of -”

“Stop. Now.” Grantaire cut in, pulling Enjolras to his feet and walking him towards the bathroom. “No more studying tonight. You can get back to your insanity tomorrow.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Enjolras wailed as they entered the bathroom. Grantaire sat him down on the closed toilet seat. “You’re an art major! You’re supposed to understand a mad rush of all-nighters to finish work. That’s all you’ve done every spring for the last four years!”

Grantaire sighed and turned on the shower.

“Yes, but I don’t shut myself in a darkened room and forgo actual food to get it done. I eat, I see daylight, and I still find time to sleep properly.”

Enjolras pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Judas.”

“Get in the shower, freak show.”

Enjolras showered and ate the meal Grantaire made for him. He even got into bed at the Enjolrase time as Grantaire, but he didn’t sleep. He lay there, wide awake, mentally scanning his enormous to do list. In the small hours of the morning, he called it a loss and went into the kitchen to grab some food and carry on with his work. He pushed aside stray cans of beer to get to his jam and closed the fridge door quietly, muttering about lost time.

 

***

 

They both graduated – Grantaire by the skin of his teeth, and Enjolras summa cum laude. The jam and Graham Crackers disappeared, and the cases of beer in the fridge were instead joined by watermelon and pitchers of iced tea. They spent most of June sitting out in the garden, reclining on warm plastic furniture and thinking about their future.

“My mom wants me to move back home.” Enjolras said, taking a sip of his iced tea.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” Grantaire replied, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and opening his can of beer with one quick flick of his finger. “Did she say why?”

“Something about it being cheaper.” Enjolras shrugged, pulling a few empty beer cans towards him. He started to stack them.

“Your parents paid for the entirety of your tuition, and the inheritance you got from your grandfather last year is worth more than this house.” Grantaire said before taking a swig of his drink. “I would find it less offensive if she actually said it’s because she didn’t want you living with me anymore.”

“She does!” Enjolras said quickly, not taking his eyes off of his tower of cans.

“Enjolras, I don’t care that she doesn’t like me. I care that she won’t actually come out and say it.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, choosing instead to remake his tower in the shape of a triangle. Grantaire didn’t push the matter. 

“We’ve got a lot of empty cans.” Enjolras said quietly after a while.

Grantaire gave non-committal hum and took another drink.

 

***

 

Against his mother’s advice, Enjolras did move to the city with Grantaire.

He landed himself an internship in the financial district, and Grantaire was quite happy working as a bartender in the village. Eponine arrived with her new boyfriend in tow not long after they did, and ended up working in the same bar as Grantaire.

Their hours were long and incompatible. Grantaire worked from the evening into the early hours of the morning, and Enjolras was in the office from nine until well after five. Weekends should have belonged to them, but most of the time they ended up sleeping too late and only have a few hours before Grantaire had to go to work.

“This isn’t quite how I imagined city living as a graduate.” Grantaire muttered into Enjolras’s neck one day. It was Sunday afternoon in late September, and they were still lying in bed. Enjolras had tried to get up earlier to do some paperwork, but Grantaire had forcibly dragged him back down and wrapped himself around his torso.

“Me neither.” Enjolras replied, twisting one of Grantaire’s dark curls around his finger. “But it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to think that the lonely nights were a waste.”

“Now wouldn’t that be a damn shame.” Enjolras chuckled.

Grantaire pressed a kiss to the underside of Enjolras’s jaw and hummed.

“Such a shame.” He said, moving his mouth down Enjolras’s neck.

Enjolras tilted his head back slightly into the pillow and sighed.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t know.” Grantaire muttered, dragging his mouth down and pushing his hand under Enjolras’s t-shirt. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Do we have time?” Enjolras asked as Grantaire rolled on top of him.

“Probably not. It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell them I had urgent matters to attend to of a personal nature.”

“ _Grantaire_.”

 

***

 

As the months went on, Enjolras started spending more and more time in the office, and Grantaire picked up more hours at the bar. Enjolras’s boss had casually mentioned that they might have a job coming up for him, and Enjolras had thrown himself into his work. Grantaire began staying so late at the bar that he would get in only a few hours before Enjolras’s alarm would go off. He would roll into bed some time after four, reeking of beer and cigarettes.

In fact, Grantaire always seemed to stink of alcohol and cigarettes.

On weekends, Grantaire was rarely without the dark stain of wine on his lips. Their laundry hamper always seemed to smell of stale beer. Bottles of Heineken would appear then disappear, and then reappear in the fridge on a regular basis. Grantaire was smoking more than he ever had before.

But Enjolras didn’t say anything. He pushed the nagging thoughts from his mind and focused on his goals. Grantaire spent most of his day around alcohol. The lingering smell of liquor was to be expected, so Enjolras ignored it. He didn’t question the appearance of a hipflask inside Grantaire’s coat pocket, or the smell of whiskey and coffee when Enjolras went to kiss him goodbye on the rare mornings they had together. He was busy. He didn’t have time to chase after Grantaire.

 

***

 

By spring, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore what was happening.

Enjolras had found himself unable to explain four empty wine bottles after a dinner with Eponine and her boyfriend. Eponine’s boyfriend didn’t drink, and Enjolras had only had a couple of glasses.

Grantaire pressed a sloppy kiss against his cheek and pulled back, beaming at him with stained teeth.

“You okay?” He asked.

Enjolras nodded and threw the bottles into the recycling box.

“I forgot to mention,” Enjolras said, “Lamarque emailed me this morning and invited us out to dinner at Plum with him and his wife.”

“That’s pretty fucking fancy. Who’s Lamarque?” Grantaire looked confused.

“My boss?”

“Oh right, Lamarque. Yeah, that guy.” Grantaire nodded quickly. “Why does he want to have dinner?”

“I guess it’s to do with getting that promotion.” Enjolras said. “This must be how he’s going to decide.”

“Why do we need to have dinner to do it? Why do I have to be there?”

“Because it’s an important company, and he wants to make sure I’m a good fit across the board before he hires me.”

“I’m across the board?” Grantaire asked.

“I live with you. We share a life together, and you’d be affected if I got this job. He wants to meet you.”

Grantaire shrugged.

“Fair enough. But I need to get new shoes before we go. I don’t think I can turn up to Plum in my Converse.”

 

***

 

The following Wednesday, Enjolras called Grantaire from the office.

“I just spoke to Lamarque. He said he’d made reservations for us at eight on Saturday. Did you get your shoes yet?”

“What?” Came Grantaire’s croaky reply.

“Did I wake you up?” Enjolras didn’t wait for an answer. “You need to get shoes for dinner on Saturday. We’re going to Plum and you don’t have anything suitable, remember?”

“Why the fuck are we going to Plum?”

“For dinner with my boss and his wife.” Enjolras replied tersely, rubbing his hand across his eyes. “Did you forget?”

There was a pause.

“No?”

Enjolras sighed irritably.

“Go and get some shoes before work, okay? This is important. We need to make a good impression.”

“Sure, okay. Right. Fancy shoes, got it.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras hung up and dropped his phone onto the desk. Grantaire was always a bit of a scatterbrain, so him forgetting the dinner wasn’t out of the ordinary. Enjolras nodded to himself. Yes, that was probably it.

 

***

 

Saturday evening arrived and Enjolras couldn’t get his hair to cooperate.

“You never do this to me. Why are you doing it now? Do you hate me?” Enjolras hissed at his reflection in the mirror, tugging a comb through is hair over and over again.

“Beg your pardon?” Grantaire said from his position on the bed.

“My hair.” Enjolras clarified, not taking his eyes off his reflection.

“Of course.” Grantaire responded as he tied his shoes. “It looks fine, by the way.”

“Yours could do with a brush too.” Enjolras muttered.

“Well you know that’s an exercise in futility. My hair would still look like a heap of shit if I spent hundreds of dollars on it.”

Enjolras turned around to face his partner and considered his unruly mop of dark curls for a moment. ‘Curls’ made them sound tamable. Grantaire’s hair was wild – a frizzy, tangled shock of black that had trapped a comb in it on more than one occasion.

“Maybe if -" 

“Maybe if it was someone else’s hair, you might get that through it.” Grantaire nodded at the comb in Enjolras’s hand. “But this is my hair. Remember that time Eponine’s brush broke off in it?”

Enjolras grimaced.

“Don’t worry about it.” Grantaire said gently. “Now put your tie on.”

He got up off the bed and left the room. Enjolras heard a cupboard door open as he wrapped his tie around his neck, followed by the sounds of clinking glass.

He knew that sound too well by this point. What he didn’t know was if Grantaire had decided on wine or liquor to help ‘take the edge off’ for tonight. When he returned a few moments later, Enjolras discovered that tonight’s drink of choice was gin.

 

***

 

“So Grantaire, what do you do?”

Enjolras stiffened and turned to face Grantaire, who looked completely calm. He turned the glass of whiskey between his fingers slowly on the table.

“I work at The Gypsy Moth.” Grantaire said.

“Is that a restaurant?” Lamarque asked politely.

“No sir, it’s just a regular bar.”

“Oh, are you a mixologist? I hear that’s very-” Lamarque’s wife began, but Grantaire interjected.

“I’m not a mixologist, ma’am. I’m just a bartender. Pulling pints, wiping down the bar, that kind of thing. Nothing fancy.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras with an expression somewhere between apologetic, embarrassed and angry. The line of his mouth was hard, but his eyes remained soft.

“He’s just been working there whilst he builds up his portfolio.” Enjolras said quickly, not taking his eyes off Grantaire. “He’s an artist, and a very talented one.”

Neither of them could remember the last time Grantaire had finished a piece.

“An artist!” Lamarque’s wife exclaimed, beaming. “How wonderful!”

“The walls of our apartment are covered with his work.” Enjolras said proudly, taking Grantaire’s warm, clammy hand under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Neither of them mentioned that all the work on display was from college.

“Well you’ll have to show us your portfolio some time, Grantaire.” Lamarque said.

“Of course.” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras squeezed his limp again.

Things didn’t improve once the food arrived. By that point Grantaire had drunk most of the bottle of wine and was noticeably irritated.

“My food has fucking flowers on it.” He hissed into Enjolras’s ear.

“Just eat it. And stop drinking all the wine before they realize it’s you.” Enjolras replied, keeping a smile on his face in case Lamarque noticed something was amiss.

“I’m not drinking all the fucking wine.” Grantaire murmured, stabbing at his food.

“I’m not fighting with you about this.”

“Yeah wouldn’t want your boss to think your life with me was a _complete_ joke.”

“I said stop.” Enjolras snapped, voice still low. “Whatever is making you angry can wait until we get home. Please.”

Grantaire stopped, and the dinner continued with him sitting in stony silence. He drank the rest of the bottle and indulged Lamarque when he requested that they join him for a whiskey.

By the time they got back to the apartment, Grantaire was stumbling into the walls of the corridor. Enjolras snatched the front door key off of him after he fumbled with it.

“Whoops fucked up again.” Grantaire slurred as he pushed his way into the apartment.

“With any luck they didn’t notice.” Enjolras retorted.

“I’m so _terribly_ sorry that you decided to shack up with a failed artist.” Grantaire drawled as he kicked his shoes off and into the living room wall. “Sorry that I’m just a plain old bartender and not a fancy mixologist.”

“I’m not talking about your career choices, Grantaire.”

Grantaire just grunted and threw his blazer onto the sofa, along with his tie.

“How much did you drink?”

Grantaire snorted.

“You mean to tell me you weren’t keeping count?”

“Be serious!” Enjolras cried.

“I don’t fucking know, Enjolras! Okay?” Grantaire shouted. “I wasn’t counting.”

Silence hung heavily in the air. Enjolras looked at Grantaire and noticed dark circles under bloodshot eyes, and a new hollowness to his cheeks. His lips were chapped and he chewed them.

“I’m gonna go smoke.” Grantaire announced before disappearing down the hall, leaving Enjolras to stand in the middle of the living room and wonder how this all happened so quickly.

 

***

 

Enjolras got the job, much to his surprise. In fact, he was offered a job as the assistant for one of the company’s senior financial planners. Apparently he and Grantaire had made quite the impression on Lamarque.

“I really liked your partner.” Lamarque mused, leaning back in his chair. “You’re very business-minded, Enjolras, and whilst that is an admirable quality in my eyes, it’s important to have balance.”

“Balance?” Enjolras questioned.

“You strike me as someone who could easily get lost in their job.” Lamarque continued. “Someone who would let their work dictate them, so to speak. You need a partner like Grantaire – a creative, relaxed sort of soul.”

“Probably.”

Grantaire had wanted to go out and celebrate, but Enjolras feigned illness, not wishing to spend the evening watching Grantaire knock back drink after drink.

“I think I’m just going to head to bed.” Enjolras said. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Grantaire didn’t, of course. Their sleeping patterns were now completely out of sync. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time they had sex.

But these changes went ignored and unspoken of. For months, Enjolras stayed at the office far longer than he needed to, waiting until Grantaire would be at work to pack up his things and leave. Too many times Enjolras found himself slumped over his desk, staring absently at the framed photograph he kept by his computer from their college days. Grantaire’s eyes were so bright. Enjolras disregarded the bottle of Budweiser in his hand

They were disintegrating before his very eyes, and Enjolras had no idea how to stop it. Broaching the topic of drink would guarantee a fight, and he wasn’t sure if he could take any more resentment. It felt like a constant battle to stave off the inevitable argument though, and when he came home one evening to find Grantaire passed out on the living room floor, he reached his breaking point.

He hauled Grantaire’s slack body onto the couch, and fetched a glass of water and painkillers. Then he waited. He waited for an hour before Grantaire began to stir.

Grantaire groaned into the back of the couch. 

“There’s a glass of water and some painkillers for you on the coffee table.” Enjolras said blandly, flicking through an old copy of the Times.

 Grantaire twisted around and squinted at him through bleary eyes.

“What’re you doing here?” He mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine. You’re late for work.”

“Don’t have work tonight.” Grantaire replied, snatching up the painkillers and dry swallowing them.

“Drink the water.” Enjolras said.

“Not thirsty.”

“You’re dehydrated. Drink it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but gulped down the water anyway. He set the glass back down the table with a thud, and Enjolras folded up the newspaper.

“We need to talk.” He said, dropping it next to the glass.

“I’d rather not right now.” Grantaire kept his voice light as he stood up from the couch.

“Tough. Sit down.” Enjolras said briskly. “Please.” He added, softer this time.

Grantaire complied and fell back onto the cushions. He began to pick at his nails as he waited for Enjolras to start talking.

“What time did you start drinking today?” Enjolras asked eventually. 

Grantaire continued to pick at his fingers, and started chewing on his lip too. Enjolras sighed.

“We can’t keep pretending like this isn’t a problem.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t be obtuse.” Enjolras snapped. “How much whiskey did you put in your coffee this morning? Or was it brandy this time?" 

“Does it matter?” Grantaire said, throwing his hands in the air suddenly. “I could say a shot or half a bottle and you’d still get pissed.”

“You put half a bottle in?”

“Half a bottle wouldn’t fucking fit, but thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“I don’t know anymore, Grantaire!” Enjolras cried. “I feel like I have no idea what’s going on with you. The only thing I’m certain of is that you drink. Constantly. There are always empty cans and bottles in the recycling, and I know that’s only half of what you consume, either because you’re hiding the rest of them or you’re drinking more at work.”

 “I work at a bar.” Grantaire stated.

 “Which makes it easier to hide!” Enjolras resumed. “This has been going on for over a year, and that’s only to my knowledge. I have no idea what you managed to cover up when we were in college under the guise of a student lifestyle.”

“What is it you’re accusing me of, Enjolras?” Grantaire demanded. “Come on, I know you’re fucking dying to say it!”

Enjolras took a breath.

“I think you might be an alcoholic.”

Grantaire let out a hollow laugh.

“And I think you added the ‘might’ to try and spare my feelings.”

“Please don’t avoid the subject.” Enjolras said flatly.

“There’s nothing to avoid.”

“Grantaire- 

“No, shut up.” Grantaire interrupted. “Just shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Enjolras stared at him, opening and closing his mouth and blinking.

“You’re never here anyway.” Grantaire carried on, getting louder. “I’m surprised you notice anything at all these days that isn’t shoved under your nose at the office.”

Enjolras really had nothing to say to dispute that. Grantaire shoved himself off of the couch.

“I do drink, and I drink a lot. I drink all day, every day. But I don’t see what the problem is. I still go to work, I still contribute to the rent and bills.”

“So because you’ve managed to become a functioning alcoholic that makes everything okay?” Enjolras scoffed, standing up to face Grantaire. “I don’t care that you still help with the rent! This relationship is falling apart!" 

“Don’t fucking blame that all on me!”

Grantaire turned and left the living room to go into the kitchen, Enjolras hot on his heels. He opened a cupboard door and grabbed the first bottle he could reach, unscrewing the cap and throwing it in the sink.

“Are you fucking insane?” Enjolras yelled incredulously. “What is wrong with you?”

“Well if I’ve fucked it all up already then what does it matter?” Grantaire replied before taking a swig from the bottle. “Want some?” He sneered, thrusting the bottle in Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shoved it away from him. Grantaire stumbled into the counter and Enjolras took a few steps back, fisting his hands in his hair and letting out a scream of frustration.

“You’re killing yourself!”

“Good! Maybe now you’ll fucking remember I’m still here!” Grantaire thundered, throwing the bottle at Enjolras. He moved out of the way just in time.

The bottle hit the back wall of the kitchen and smashed, glass and vodka flying across the linoleum. Both men stared at each other in absolute silence, save for their heavy breathing. Enjolras swallowed thickly. Grantaire’s eyes were wide as he blinked rapidly and looked from Enjolras to the smashed bottle.

“I’m going out.” He said suddenly.

He tore from the kitchen, glass crunching under his feet as he went. Enjolras didn’t move.

 

***

 

By midnight, Grantaire hadn’t returned.

After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, Enjolras had spent most of the time trying to calm himself down. He showered and tried to sleep, but to no avail. He tried to call Grantaire, only to find his phone vibrating on the windowsill, so he got back into bed and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

That is, until his alarm clock read after five and his phone started ringing.

He snatched it up from the pillow next to him and brought it to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Enjolras?”

 “Yes, speaking. Who is this?” He asked impatiently.

“My name is Cosette, I’m a nurse at Downtown Hospital. You’re listed as Grantaire’s emergency contact.”

Enjolras felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Grantaire was brought in about an hour ago after being hit by a cab.”

Enjolras scrambled out of bed, trying to pull his jeans on with the phone jammed between his cheek and shoulder.

“Is he okay?” He rushed, fumbling with his zip.

“He’s okay – just a few cuts and bruises. But we need to keep him in for observation for a few hours.”

Grantaire was okay.

Enjolras dropped to his knees by the bed, body sagging with relief. He thanked the nurse, hung up, and reached for his shoes under the bed.

“He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.” He chanted to himself as he pulled his boots on.

 

***

 

He wasn’t. 

Grantaire may have only had ‘a few cuts and bruises’, but when Enjolras arrived he was hooked up to an IV and passed out on a gurney. He was greeted by a nurse who told him that Grantaire’s blood alcohol level was through the roof, and that they needed him to sober up before they could discharge him.

“It should only take a few hours.” The nurse said to Enjolras with a kind smile. “I think there may be someone coming down from psych to talk to him, but after that he’s free to go." 

“Psych?” Enjolras asked.

“From what we could gather, Grantaire was in a bar a few moments before the accident. One of the bartenders said they were worried about his state of mind, so they called the police to make sure he got home okay.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, but didn’t reply.

“Try not to worry too much sweetheart.”

But of course Enjolras did. He sat in the hard plastic chair next to Grantaire’s bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, and wondering what to do when he woke up. Nurses came and went, checking on Grantaire’s drip and offering Enjolras looks of pitying sympathy, but nothing happened for several hours.

When Grantaire finally woke, it was with a groan and a hacking cough.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He spluttered, clutching at his side.

 “Welcome back.” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire looked over at him with surprise, wincing at the quick movement.

“What are you doing here?”

“You got hit by a cab, and I’m your next of kin.” Enjolras replied dully.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently you sat in a bar for a few hours, crying about our fight and your so-called ‘worthless life’, and then stumbled out of the building and straight into the road.

“Sounds about right.”

“What on earth were you thinking?” Enjolras asked.

“You think I was thinking?”

“What if the cab had been going faster? What if it had been a bus?”

“Please don’t start, not now.” Grantaire said wearily.

Enjolras quieted and closed his eyes tightly.

He thought back to a time when they were still in college, coming back from the bar one night when it was raining. They stumbled down the street, dirty water from the puddles splashing over their shoes and jeans as he half carried, half dragged Grantaire to the apartment. He was huffing and giggling into Enjolras’s neck. He smelled like rain and something vaguely spicy. Grantaire started trying to kiss him, but Enjolras just hoisted him up again, and muttered something about the rain and how heavy he was. Grantaire ignored him, of course, and twisted out of his arms, trying to face him properly without falling over. He didn’t do a very good job and they ended up falling into the gutter. He recalls Grantaire’s shout of joy as he climbed up his body and sat on him before leaning down to kiss him properly. Enjolras had grumbled about their clothes, but his lips were still smiling against Grantaire’s.

That felt like a decade ago.

“I do love you, you know.” Enjolras muttered, his voice hoarse. He opened his eyes to find Grantaire gazing at him softly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in a sad half smile.

 “I know.” He said. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

“Not anymore.” Enjolras sighed.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Enjolras watched Grantaire pick at his nails.

“Apparently psych are going to come down to talk to you later.”

“Figures.” Grantaire shrugged.

Enjolras hummed. Silence fell again.

“Probably a good idea.” Grantaire mumbled after a few minutes.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and Grantaire shrugged again.

“Probably.” He said.

Probably.

Psych would probably come down within the hour and talk to Grantaire. They’d ask Enjolras to leave the room for a few minutes, but when he came back Grantaire would tell him everything anyway. He would probably say something about needing to cut back whilst giving Enjolras a look that said ‘and that’s it for now’. But that would probably turn into more with Enjolras’s support, right? 

Grantaire would probably get himself into an outpatient program, and it would be hell on earth at first. There would be long nights spent hunched over the toilet bowl with Enjolras rubbing circles in Grantaire’s back, holding a cool damp cloth to his forehead and constantly encouraging him. Depending on the extent of Grantaire’s addiction, there would probably be hallucinations and seizures. He would probably have to come back to hospital for a while, just to be on the safe side, but Enjolras would take the time off of work to sit with him to make sure he didn’t go out of his mind with boredom or cravings.

It would probably be hard, maybe near impossible. There would probably be more fights, more screaming, and more bitterness. Grantaire would probably have to quit his job, and Enjolras would probably have to cut down his hours. There would probably be more accusations, some maybe not completely unfounded if there were a relapse.

And it would probably all be worth it in the end.

“Probably.” Enjolras nodded, taking Grantaire’s hand in his.

It wasn’t much, but it was probably a good place to start.

 

 


End file.
